To Tempt the Devil Pt. 01

He straightened, and stared straight at her, his eyes murderously dark. “Vixen,” he hissed, and grabbed her.

She froze and stiffened in his grasp. Slowly, methodically, he drew her against him, then spun around in a quick movement, taking her with him until he had her against the stone wall. She felt it against her back - cold, and hard, and drew her breath in sharply. His gaze bore into hers, and she turned her face away, exposing the white column of her throat. He stared, mesmerised, then bent his head and licked her neck, running his tongue in a heated caress down the side of her throat until he reached the slope of her shoulders. His hands were sliding down her gown, pushing aside the fabric until he had bared her shoulder. She felt his lips there, then his teeth grazed her skin, and she stopped breathing when she felt him bite. It was gentle at first, until his teeth sank in and she gave a small gasp of pain. He laughed and soothed her skin with his tongue, kissing away the pain. “You deserved that, minx,” he said derisively.

From somewhere she summoned up the energy to speak, to push him away. Face scarlett with humiliation at her own lack of willpower, she straightened her dress and stepped away from him. As if from very far away, she heard his voice. “I’ve marked you,” he observed, in a voice filled with satisfaction.

It was the last straw. With an outraged shout she raised her hand and struck him. He did not react fast enough and her knuckles struck his cheek, turning his face and resulting in a cut lip for him and rather raw knuckles for her. It couldn’t be any measly slap, he thought ruefully, not for her. Why couldn’t he meet a normal female for once?

He licked a bead of blood from his lips and regarded her silently for a moment. She stared back at him. “I suppose I deserved that,” he said finally.

“Yes,” she agreed. “You did. You had no right to - to maul me, like you did.”

He considered. “Maul?” he said thoughtfully. “Interesting choice of words. Yes, I suppose you could say I did that, though it strikes me as rather crude. I prefer the term make love to, personally.”

“Ha,” she spat. “Love has nothing to do with it. All that nonsense - its just perverted lust.”

“Oh I agree,” he said amiably. “Nothing at all. Rather odd choice of words there too, if you think about it. Though I wouldn’t go so far as to call it perverted. The instinct to reproduce is quite natural, after all.”

“Enough!” Faith cried, frustration evident in every line of her body. “What is the purpose of this? What did you drag me out here for?”

“I would have thought that were obvious,” Vardon said mildly.

She stamped her foot. He observed the gesture with amusement. “Surely you cannot have dragged me out here for - for -” she gestured wildly. “That!”

“Why ever not?”

The cool facade dropped calmly back into place. “I would hope, sir,” she said archly, “That you are not in the habit of dragging random women out onto terraces specifically for the purposes of mauling them.”

He could not suppress his laughter. “I am tempted,” he informed her dryly, “To inform you that I am, solely to crush your hopes and observe your reaction. However, I will concede, it was not my intention when I brought you out here.”

Faith fought down her impatience. “What was it then?”

He did not answer immediately. “You have a dab hand at cards, my lady.”

“You are avoiding the question.”

“Not at all. I notice you employ your fan to good use as well.”

She froze. It could not be. But it was. He had seen - but how? She wondered, wildly, if she could push him over the balcony and get away with it. No, she thought sadly. He was too big. She tried for incomprehension. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean, sir.”

“Oh, I think you do,” he said, leaning back against the wall with his shoulders and regarding her from under hooded eyes.

“I most certainly do not. If you’ve nothing more than obscure accusations to make at me my lord, I will go inside now.” She turned to leave.

“Stop.”

She did.

“Turn around.”

Gritting her teeth and cursing herself for being unable to resist, she swivelled slowly and met his eyes, now cold and sharp, all traces of humour gone.

He spoke, enunciating each word clearly. “I do not take kindly to being taken for a fool, my lady, nor do I take kindly anyone who sets out to harm my family. Jordan is my family. I do not wish to see you with him from this moment, nor do I wish to see you set foot in this venue once more.”

“You think to forbid me entrance here, sir?”

“Yes.”

“And do you own this club, Lord Vardon?”

He met her gaze squarely. “No.”

“Then how do you propose to keep me out?”

A small smile curved his lips. “Believe me, my dear. I have my ways.”

“No doubt you shall throw me out physically, if I come in?”

He shrugged. “It is a possibility.”

“And how do you propose to keep me from your cousin, my lord? He is his own master, after all. Who are you to decide with whom he associates? Am I to take it that you choose his friends, his home and what he eats, as well?”

“My cousin is my charge,” Vardon said coolly. “As such, he is my responsibility. You may cheat as many foolish gulls as you like, my lady. But you will leave Jordan alone.”

“Bah,” Faith said scornfully. “I cheated him of nothing. His stakes were my name, which I would not have told him anyway.”

He stared at her in astonishment. “You admit that you would have reneged on your wager?”

“No,” Faith said coldly. “But I have several names, you see. I promised to give him my last name - but I don’t go by my last name.”

“Really?” Vardon eyed her with interest. “Why is that? Are your parents separated, perhaps, so you go by your mother’s maiden name? Or perhaps you are illegitimate?”

“Oh its nothing like that,” Faith said airily, repressing her irritation at being thought illegitimate. “Its just that at some point in the line, a few generations ago I believe, the family only had a female heir, and she was the only one in the entire lineage. I think my family has a thing with producing only one heir - I’ve never understood how we’ve survived this long. Anyway, she married, and so the d - er, title, passed on to her son, who bore his father’s name and not his mothers name, the name of the titled family. Only the son decided that he’d only go by his mother’s name, and not his fathers. I don’t know why - his father was probably mean to him. He didn’t do anything like change his name - he simply only went about with his second last name rather than his last, if you know what I mean. And his children - er, child - kept up the tradition, right up to my father’s generation, who also did the same thing.”

“I see,” said Vardon. “How very curious. I don’t suppose its widely known that your name isn’t really your name?”

“No. No one knows, really, except the family, a few close friends who don’t spread it around, and you, although you don’t know who I am, so it doesn’t count.”

“I could find out.”

“But you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m going to tell you not to,” she said matter of factly. “And you’re a gentleman.”

He smiled. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

“I will make you a deal, then,” she said grudgingly. “In return for your promise not to make any enquiries about me, I shall leave your cousin alone.”

“What about Vadistes?”

“Don’t push it,” she warned.

“Very well. You need not include that in our bargain. Nonetheless, you will not set

foot in here again.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“Because I told you to,” he threw her words back at her. “And you’re a lady...or are you? How old are you, Lady Faith?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“You’ve no business being here,” he pointed out. “You’re not so masterly a coquette as you would have us believe, my dear. Any experienced flirt would have taken our...er...encounter, in stride. Your reaction was not that of a sophistocate, but an innocent.” No sophistocate would have thrown him off either, he thought dryly.

“How can you be so sure, my lord? Have you had any innocents lately?”

“I don’t make it a habit to associate with any innocents at all. I find them tiring.”

“Yes,” she said with a smile. “They are, aren’t they?”

“Commendable attempt, my dear, but sadly lacking in conviction.”

“Oh, pah,” Faith snapped. “It is pointless to talk to you. I’m leaving.”

So she did, wondering all the while how Lord Vardon would explain his going into a sojourn out onto the balcony with a young lady, intact and coming back out of it with a split lip and various other injuries. She did not think he would find it easy.

Neither did he. Upon being asked by James Brantson how he’d attained that particular injury, his response was, “I tripped.” Realising that unless he admitted to having fallen flat on his face, he could not explain the entire state of his face, he added, “While I was at it, the wall decided to get friendly.” Thus, the bruise on his cheek was also explained.

Chapter Three: In Which Faith Sets an Unlikely Goal

She had not planned on setting him as her goal, but somehow, it had happened. Inexplicably, she had decided that he was the one who would further her plans. Fair enough, Faith supposed. If she was going to be ruined, she might as well be well and truly ruined. Judging solely from what had happened tonight, she knew he was not completely averse to her. He had done what he had as punishment, and intimidation, she knew, but if he had done it once surely he could be induced to do it again, preferably in surrounds of her choosing the next time. She did not intend to let him touch her any more than was necessary, of course. Ruination in name was one thing - she had no intention of selling herself - or rather whoring, to put it crudely - to achieve her purposes, no matter how much she may have wanted them.

Going into a gaming hell was disreputable, she knew, but it was simply not disreputable enough. Especially when she was escorted by her brother. No one had known who she was - those who frequented gaming hells mostly did not frequent the ton’s ballrooms. And if any of the ton did happen to see her, the most censure she would be able to attract would be the indulgent condescension granted to the young and spirited, and unceasingly curious. She had, after all, been escorted by her brother who was, after all, the Honorable Duke of Edenvale. They could hardly accuse her of being unchaperoned. Society was wont to be indulgent on those with both money and a title - and she had both, a highly unusual occurrence for young, unmarried women. It was really too bad, the society matrons would say, that she was already engaged to Silverstone.

She had not seen him this evening. Odd, really, considering that her brother had sworn he’d glimpsed him once or twice. But then, she hadn’t heard anyone mentioning him, either. It seemed that the only gossip that touched the Marquess was that which was out of his presence, for the ton certainly had no qualms discussing him in his absence.

Faith shivered slightly at the thought of him. She was of age now, and surely Silverstone would come any day now to collect his bride. She hoped it would not be soon - she needed some time at least for her plans to be put into practice. But with the death of her father over a year ago, she knew Sylvester was probably antsy to get her settled - if not to Silverstone then to someone else. He had never understood her desire to remain unwed - but he would not have to, if her plans came through.

He had escorted her tonight to Vadistes without a thought - they were so close that he would accede to almost every one of her wishes - providing they did not endanger her, of course. A gaming hell, to his point of view, could bring about no harm, and he knew she had been itching to test out her card skills against players other than he.

In any case, she could not hope to be truly ruined unless the deed was done under the eyes of the ton, preferably with a great deal of people there to witness. She did not mind that people would talk - gossip had never fazed her as long as it wasn’t to her face. Then it would mean that she would have to retaliate and she would rather avoid confrontations. They were always so often messy.

Ruination in a gaming hell had a distinctly dramatic ring to it, but there were simply not enough members of the ton present to create a large enough scandal. And the scandal had to be large enough if she wanted Silverstone to break off the betrothal. She suspected that the man ate scandal for breakfast and nothing short of complete and utter ruination would deter him from his course. From the one time she had met him he had seemed singlemindedly determined to follow his father’s wishes, despite her utmost attempts to persuade him to her point of view. Of course, that had been a good 10 years ago. She did not know if his strength of determination might have changed at all. Better not to risk it, though. She was not about to go through all that scandal without her plan at least working.

She decided, ostensibly at that moment, that the scene would have to be at a tonnish ball. Preferably a large one. Somehow, someway, she would lure Lord Vardon to one of the ton’s ballrooms (god knew how she’d manage it - he looked the sort that only came into the glittering lights of the ton under pain of death, all the better, really, but deuced inconvenient) and then, somehow, someway, find herself in a compromising position with him. If he was a true gentlemen, he would offer for her - which ought to satisfy his conscience, if it even existed - but she would, of course, decline. It would rather defeat her purpose if she avoided being wed to one degenerate only to be roped into marriage with another. She did not plan on being wed at all, for that matter, as she intended to hie off to her country estate in Devenry, or perhaps Rawlston or Tusane would do as well, anywhere to escape the ton, as soon as the news broke out and Silverstone called off the engagement. She smiled slightly to herself in the darkness as she lay in bed. It was a matter of two weeks, at most, she predicted. It could not take long - it was, after all, a universal truth that all bad men wanted to ruin any innocent young ladies. Why else would ruination be so easy?

* * *

Her appearance surprised him. He did not know why - she had made quite clear that she had no intention of obeying his decree. And why should she? Where she went and spent her time was no business of his. He, really, had no right to dictate to her.

All this Vardon’s brain understood logically and reasonably. His mind comprehended her defiance.

His body did not.

Rising from his seat in the shadows, brandy glass in hand, he threw down his cards on the table, rapped out a curt, “Excuse me, gentlemen. I have some other business to attend to. Pray, continue the game.” To the surprised, and amused looks of his gaming partners he stepped out of the area where all serious gaming was conducted and stepped into the more brightly lit main area of the salon, where already, he could see the wolves flocking towards her. Impetuous fool, he thought in disgust. Could she not see the signs that she was exuding? Could she not see the danger that she was attracting? A third, more sobering thought froze him in his tracks. Or perhaps she did know? Perhaps the attention she attracted was coincidental - but intentional. How else to explain a seeming innocent in a gaming hell - unless she was not an innocent? This unexpected spurt of anger fueled his rage at her defiance, and he seemed to see nothing but red as he stalked towards her.

The more sophisticated wolves and young bucks alike sensed a new element to their game and unerrringly stood aside as he approached, relinquishing their positions with chagrin but no hesitation. Vardon grimly accepted all this as his due, and as he came into her line of vision, executed a smooth bow, forcing an expression of calm civility onto his face. “Lady Faith,” he said softly. “A pleasure. I did not...expect...to see you here again.”

Faith met his gaze defiantly. “Odd,” she said in decidedly curious accents. “I do distinctly recall saying sir, that I would see you again the next time I came here.”

He heard a laugh behind him, saw James Brantson out of the corner of his eye. “Seems your losing your memory in your dotage, Vardon,” he drawled. “P’raps you ought to sit down? Wouldn’t want to overexert yourself now...the ague, you know,” he said confidingly to Faith.

She pressed her lips together to avoid from chortling with amusement. It occured to her that, aside from her own provoking comments, she’d never seen anyone mock, or rather, insult Lord Vardon to his face, or even behind his back before, at least, now while he was in the same building with him. She rather pitied the young man who had had the gall to do so. Presumably he did not know him well. Why, she was willing to bet that Vardon was almost as bad as Silverstone himself! Which, of course, made him all the more perfect to her plans. She frowned slightly. She was thinking about her plans too much lately - a rather bad thing, since she wasn’t quite sure how she was to proceed, anyway. No, better to simply let things happen - and go with them until she could figure out what to do. No use pondering at every moment over everything that had happened.

Vardon endured Brantson’s mockery in silence, then turned and leveled cold eyes on him, one brow slightly raised. “Is it to be Hyde Park?”

James laughed, the sound obviously disturbing a good deal of those clustered around them. “Oh don’t bother to go through the entire process of calling me out, Var. I’ll simply apologise at the last minute and do it again. And no matter how many times you call me out I’ll simply apologise again...you won’t get rid of me through a duel.”

“Then I’ll simply have to find another...less conspicuous way,” Vardon rejoined smoothly. “I’ve heard that poison works remarkably well.”

James laughed again and backed away, hands raised, palms up. “All right, all right. I concede. The field’s all yours, old chap. Just don’t come running back to me when you realise you’re out of your depth and in need of desperate help. I won’t help you, my friend.” With those last cryptic words and a sly glance at Faith, he spun and strolled off, whistling jauntily.

“Now that’s bravery,” Faith said, admiration evident in her voice.

Vardon repressed his irritation. “Lady Faith. If you would do me the honour of taking a stroll with me?”

Her lips curved slightly, and she inclined her head. “Certainly,” she said graciously, looking around at the gentlemen surrounding her. “You will, I trust, excuse me, gentlemen?”

He took her arm as they walked, subtly but expertly steering her towards the doorway. “Where are you taking me?” Faith hissed.

“I feel an urge to sample the night air,” he said easily. “I’m certain you have no objections?”

There was no way she could without raising a scene, and she had no particular wish to, not with Sylvester playing only a room away. There was no need to draw any attention to herself any longer - she had chosen her objective. Besides, surely there was no harm in taking a stroll outside for a bit?

She was wrong. Rather than stopping at the outside parlour and heading towards the open french doors that led onto the terrace, he led her right on past the cloakroom, down the stairs, past the surprised looking attendant on duty in the corridor, and somehow managed to convey her right out the door. She stumbled down the few stone steps, taken aback at the cold night air, realising she had left her cloak inside. But then, she had not expected their “outside stroll” to be conducted in the streets in front of a gaming hell.

“What are you doing?” Faith demanded, staring up at him as he stood leaning against the doorway, regarding her placidly.